


In Sickness and in Health

by SilverFountains



Category: Da Vinci's Demons
Genre: Best Friends, Caretaking, Leonardo is a stubborn git, M/M, Platonic Male/Male Relationships, Sick Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-16
Packaged: 2019-02-03 09:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12745719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverFountains/pseuds/SilverFountains
Summary: Writing during my own suffering with a stomach bug for a joint prompt - Leonardo falls ill and is looked after by Zo and Riario.





	In Sickness and in Health

**Author's Note:**

  * For [delorita](https://archiveofourown.org/users/delorita/gifts).



> Set after s3. Riario has gotten away with his father's murderand is still Captain General. His uncle is reinstated as the rightful Pope. Zo and Leo are working in Rome under papal instruction.

“You're being ridiculous!” Zoroaster scolds as he watches the other retch above the bucket beside his workbench. “You're ill. You've got to rest, dammit Leo. All of this,” he shuffles around some papers with undecipherable scribbles in Da Vinci's handwriting, “can wait. You're in no fit state to come up with some brilliant idea anyway.”

But Leonardo rips the papers out of his hands and sits himself back down, wiping his mouth with the back of his sleeve as he dips his pen in the ink pot with his other hand. “I'm fine,” he snaps. “Just let me get on with this and it will be fine. I've promised His Holiness to have this finished by the end of the week and I'm not going to let an upset stomach make me break my promise,” he mumbles as he bends over his papers once more.

“Who’s to say it's just _an upset stomach_?” Zoroaster argues back, standing opposite the maestro to get his attention as he places his hands on the table. “You've been throwing up for nearly three days in a row. You've never been sick for that long after eating something rancid before. What if it is this stinking city? What if you have the flux?”

Leo stops scribbling and scowls at his friend. “It's coming out of my mouth, not my arse!” he snarls. “I don't have dysentery or the plague or any other serious ailment. I just have a small gastrointestinal upset that will go away of its own accord if I can just get _this_ finished!!” he slams his fist on the table, causing various items to clatter onto the floor. “Just go!” he points to the door, his head pounding as he scrunches up his face against the throbbing that is not helping things at all.

“Fine,” Zo sighs. He wants to argue back but the look of pain on Leonardo's pale face tells him that this outburst is more to do with the illness that's plaguing the genius than his normal bad manners. He grabs the apple he'd picked up on his way here and puts it in front of Leonardo. “Just… try and eat something, alright.” He doesn't wait for a response as he leaves Da Vinci's work space. He half expects the apple to hit him on his way out.

+++

Zoroaster takes a deep breath before he raps firmly on the wooden door. He hates the fact that he has to ask this man, of all people, for help but he feels pretty desperate.

“Well well, look who's here. Coming to tell me my fortunes, Zoroaster da Peretola?” Count Riario gives the visitor a wry smirk.

“Cut the crap, count,” Zoroaster does not have the patience for the usual word games between them. He pushes past the captain without waiting for an invitation and steps into his private quarters. “Leo is ill,” he comes straight out with it, turning back to the count. “I need your help.”

Girolamo is unsure which of those statements surprises him most. But he shakes his head. “I feel flattered that you believe my skill extends to the art of healing, but you probably should call a physician.”

This time it's Zoroaster who snorts. “Don't you think I've tried that? Leo refuses to see one. Says that he knows a lot more about the human body than these _butchers of the Vatican_. And he's probably right as well.” He takes the liberty to sit down in the chair by the fireplace.

Riario raises an eyebrow but he does not argue with the other man's statement as he can but agree after his own experiences of Da Vinci's anatomical and medical knowledge.

“Then what do you want from me?” he asks as he sits down in the other chair.

“He needs rest,” Zoroaster looks at the other man, still asking himself if there truly had been no other solution than Riario. But truth is even if he does not trust the count, he knows Leonardo does. “He won't listen to me. He has been working day and night on this thing for your uncle even though he has been throwing up everything he eats for days now. He looks terrible.” _And smells even worse,_ he adds in his head.

“And what can I do?” Riario tilts his head slightly now. The fact that Zoroaster has come to him concerns him far greater than the words spoken and he understands that Da Vinci must be in a pretty bad way for the other man to seek his help.

“Talk to your uncle,” Zo is relieved that the count appears to listen to him. “Get him to extend the deadline. And…” he sighs, really not wanting to ask for this but knowing he has to for Leo's sake, “I was wondering if he could stay here for a few days. Somewhere quiet and away from all of his tools and papers.”

“Here? To convalesce?” Girolamo asks, surprised.

“He says it's not serious,” Zo tries to reassure that he won't be spreading some dreadful disease in god's house. “He just needs to rest … Girolamo,” he tries to connect with this man on a civil level. “I would not ask you if I was not…”

“Desperate?” the count finishes the sentence with a smirk. “Very well. I will talk to His Holiness. And you can bring him here. I shall have a room made ready for him.” He leans forward. “And how will you convince him to stay here?”

“Leave that to me,” Zo gets to his feet. Now that he has the other's agreement he wants to put his plan in action as soon as possible rather than make small talk with the monster of Italy.

+++

Leo jolts as the door to his workshop slams shut. He realises he must have drifted off at some point as he finds one of his papers stuck to the side of his face as he blinks in confusion.

“Leo,” Zo says urgently, frowning at the state of his friend. He had thought hard about this challenge as he had walked back at a fast pace from the Vatican City walls to this affluent street in Rome where they are staying. And he had decided there was only one way for it. “Freshen up. You must come with me, now!”

Leo peels the paper from his face, feeling his stomach rumble unpleasantly. “Come with you? What?” he tries to focus his sore head, regretting the movement already. “Where?” he groans.

Zo grabs a cloth and dunks it in the bucket by the door. He strides over to Leo and hands him the wet garment. “Clean your face. You're needed in the Vatican.”

“The… Vatican? But…” Leo does drag the cloth across his face, at least welcoming the coolness against his burning skin, “it's only Wednesday. I'm not due to see His Holiness until Friday.” Suddenly anxiety grips him as he jumps to his feet, grabbing onto Zo as his legs threaten to give way from under him. “It-it IS Wednesday, isn't it?!” he panics, thinking he might have slept for much longer than just a short snooze.

“Yes, it's Wednesday,” Zo steadies his friend,  grimacing at the acrid breath the engineer breathes in his face. “And it's not His Holiness who needs your help. It's Riario. He's fallen ill. Much more serious than you. He won't have any of the papal physicians touch him. He said only you will do.” Zoroaster thanks the Lord for his guile and hopes that his friend will buy it.

“Riario?” Leo looks at Zo with dry red eyes, squeezing them shut as he fights against the dizzying throbbing. “W-what's wrong with him?”

But Zo shrugs his shoulders, “You're the medico. We should hurry though; he sounded in a bad way.”

“Y-yes,” Da Vinci stutters, trying to wrap his head around this unexpected information. He quickly scans through the limited medical supplies he has here, picking items up and throwing them in a bag - he might have to call on the Vatican's physicians himself for additional supplies depending on what ails the count. But as he bends down to rummage through his jars and herbs he finds himself grabbing for the bucket once more as his stomach turns itself in a painful knot and bile rises up in his throat.

“P-perhaps I should not…” he begins once his stomach seems to have eased after dry retching above the bucket. “If Riario is already ill...”

Zo frowns and crosses his arms. “I thought you said yours was just a stomach upset? Of course if it's something more serious than I will tell His Grace that you are not fit to…”

“No! Fine! I'm fine,” Leo stubbornly hauls himself up. “Let's go,” he gasps and marches out of the door before another bout of sickness hits him.

+++

“Count?” Leonardo frowns when it's Riario himself who answers the door, looking in what appears to be excellent health. It's certainly not the picture that Zoroaster has painted.

“Leonardo,” Girolamo greets his expected guest slightly less formally. He frowns too as he takes in Leonardo's dishevelled state. It reminds him of a time long ago when his then adversary had been on trial for sodomy. Unkempt, agitated, unfocused and all round looking like a _girovago_. “You look awful,” he says earnestly.

“And you look… well,” Leonardo narrows his eyes in suspicion. “Zo, what's going on?” he asks his companion without taking his eyes off the captain general.

“Would you have come if I'd told you the truth?” Zo says, crossing his and broadening his shoulders, readying himself for this argument. “That _you_ are the one who needs urgent help. That I'm so worried about you that I went and spoke to Riario. And that he has secured you an extension on your assignment so that you can rest and recover, here in the Vatican?”

Riario raises an eyebrow at all that, guessing at the lure that the other man must have thrown Da Vinci. He crosses his arms too, curious how this will play out.

“You l-lied to me?” Leonardo slowly turns towards his best friend. “You t-told me t-that the c-c-c-count was ill!”

“You haven't answered my question,” Zoroaster retorts sharply. He doesn't want to row with Leonardo, especially not in front of Riario, but Da Vinci's health is more important than his pride right now. “Would you have come if I'd told you the truth?”

“How d-dare you!” Da Vinci isn't sure what arouses his anger more. The fact that Zoroaster has lied to him or that he doesn't trust him to take care of himself. Or indeed the fact that now he looks like a fool in front of someone he desires to impress.

“Da Vinci,” the count interjects the little scene playing out in his chambers, “you do need help. You look like one of your wax-filled corpses. And you smell like one too,” he pulls up his nose. “Zoroaster was right  to bring you here. And I insist that you take up my invitation.”

Leo whips his head back to Count Riario,aghast that these two men, who normally cannot stand to be in the same room as each other, are now ganging up on him. But the too quick movement of his head is too much for his exhausted and dehydrated body. He sways, stumbles and drops to the ground, shivering and shaking. Somewhere in the distance he can hear Zoroaster and Riario call his name before all goes black.

+++

Leo swats at the hallucinations that plague his dreams. Armies of Turkish invaders closing in. A sea of bodies strewn across the plane. His mother, screaming, drowning, dying. Blood. His father. Dying. Lucretia. Dying. So much blood. So much death. Clarice. A pool full of blood. Water. His eyes burning. The labyrinth. Riario. Saint or sinner. Lightning. His own head on a block, waiting for the end. Bodies. So many bodies. Blood. Endless seas of blood. Cold. Water. Something cold.

“Leo?”

A familiar voice. Far away but close. Leonardo fights the cold wetness against his skin. Dreading the labyrinth. Dreading the blood. Dreading the pain.

“Leo. Leo, it's Zo. Leo, can you hear me?”

Zo.

The blood fades. The darkness is penetrated by a warm light.

Zo.

A hand touches his. He grabs hold. It pulls him away, away from the demons, away from death.

Zo.  “Zo.”

“Yes!” Zoroaster gasps as Leo croaks his name out loud. “Leo, it's me. I've got ya. It's alright, Leo. You're alright.” He takes the cloth from Leo's forehead and rinses it in the water bucket once more.

“No! No more!” Leo groans as the wet coldness touches his skin again.

“Alright,” Zo reassures as he takes the cloth away and studies Leo's face carefully. He lays his hands across the man's forehead instead and smiles softly in relief.

“How is he?”

“His fever has broken,” Zoroaster answers Count Riario as the pious man steps into the room. “He's talking. Not really lucid yet, but it's one hell of an improvement.”

“Good. Our prayers have been answered,” the son of Rome nods as he takes a seat beside the bed.

 _Our prayers? Yours perhaps, but only through my hard work on the back of Da Vinci's basic training in medicine._ Zoroaster bites back the harsh words though as in fairness Count Riario had more than surprised him in his dedication to take care of Leonardo. They had taken it in turns to sit by the artist's bedside. To mop his brow and wet his lips as Da Vinci had fought through his feverish nightmares. And whilst the count sought to heal the sick man with prayers rather than herbs, his intentions were no less honourable than Zoroaster's as he spent the long hours holding Leonardo's hand in his own.

“Water.” The request is barely more than a whisper but they've both heard it and when they turn to Da Vinci his eyes flutter open. “So thirsty.”

Riario is nearest to the watering can and he hands Zoroaster a cup, filling it halfway. The Jew slides his arm under Leonardo’s back to help him sit up enough to sip the water from the Vatican's spring.

Leonardo sighs gratefully as the welcome liquid lubricates his dry throat. He blinks, taking in the unusual surroundings. And the unusual company. “Girolamo.”

“Artista,” the count smiles. “It is good to see you on the mend.”

“Where are we? Why am I here?” the confused genius turns to Zo who still brings the cup to his lips in intervals to let him sip more water.

“We're in the Vatican. And we're here because you were being a stubborn goat refusing to just take a day's rest when you were puking your guts up.” Zo puts the cup down now and looks sternly at the patient. “For God's sake, Leo, when are you going to learn that you are human like the rest of us and not fucking invincible?!” He almost shouts the last words in frustration that is rooted in being exhausted himself now after two days and nights of worrying about the man he cares so very deeply for.

Riario tuts at his guest taking the Lord's name in vain on top of the rest of his cursing, but he has to agree with him on a more fundamental level. “Zoroaster is right. We've both stuck our necks out and more to keep you alive on many occasions,” he reminds the genius of the many sacrifices they had made. “I would rather not see our efforts go to waste that easily for the sake of your ego, Leonardo.”

Da Vinci blinks hard, wondering if he's still hallucinating. “You… You're right,” he has to admit since if these two can agree on something there is not much argument left. “And thank you. Both. I get the feeling that I owe you both a great deal once again.”

He reaches across to take both Riario's hand in one and Zo in the other. “Though I must admit,” he manages a playful wink, “that seeing the two of you work together is worth almost dying time and time again.”

FIN


End file.
